Chuck Versus Das Boot (Chuck 6-07)
by anthropocene
Summary: Episode 7 of "Chuck" Season 6: A seemingly routine job for C. I.—and a cryptic distress call from Jeffster!—send Chuck, Sarah, Morgan, and Alex to the Rhine River country of Germany! Please fasten your Lederhosen as our heroes take a riverboat cruise into a realm of dark castles, decadent rich people, curious QR codes, Pop Musik, and Liebfraumilch! And…the Wurst is yet to come!
1. Prologue

**CHUCK VERSUS DAS BOOT (Chuck 6-07)**

Sequel to "Chuck Versus Route 66—Part Two" (you might want to read that first if you haven't), and the seventh episode of an imaginary sixth season of _Chuck_.

A seemingly routine job for C. I.—and a cryptic distress call from _Jeffster!—_send Chuck, Sarah, Morgan, and Alex to the Rhine River country of Germany! Please fasten your Lederhosen as our heroes take a riverboat cruise into a realm of dark castles, decadent rich people, curious QR codes, Pop Musik, and Liebfraumilch! And…the Wurst is yet to come!

**A/N:** If you enjoy reading a chapter (or even if you don't), I'd love to hear from you via a review, whether short or long! Thanks!

**Disclaimer:** This fan-fiction story should not be construed as a violation of copyright because I do not claim to own _Chuck._

* * *

_**"Hi—I'm Chuck! Here are a few things you might need to know, or maybe just forgot…."**_

_(Flashback to Chuck and Sarah at the doorstep of Ellie and Devon's Chicago home—as Sarah looks into Chuck's eyes and tells him, "I'm remembering…I wanted us out of the spy world…all of us…as soon as we're done with this Intersect business…." __Chuck replies, "Deal, babe. Deal," and the two of them seal that deal with a fierce kiss….)_

_(Flashback to CIA Agent Juanita Saldana breaking into Ellie's office and examining one of the Keys that Chuck built…then liberating Manoosh Depark from imprisonment at Guantánamo Bay to work for her: "I require a skilled assistant for a very special project….")_

_(Flashback to Morgan and Alex viewing the mysterious DVD sent from Germany by _Jeffster!..._Alex asks, __"It's some kind of message for Chuck and Sarah, don't you think?" and Morgan replies, "More than that—it's a call for help!")_

_(Flashback to an excited Ellie breaking the news to a very nervous Chuck and Sarah: "Sarah, you're pregnant!") _

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

**In a state-of-the-art, secure research laboratory hidden in a facility near the campus of Stanford University**

_(Music: "The Right Thing [Kleerup Remix]," by Moby feat. Inyang Bassey)_

A freshly groomed Manoosh plunges into his work, backed by a righteous mix on a pair of Bose QuietComfort noise-cancelling headphones: a little gift from his new lady boss whose name he still does not know. He sits at a workstation, familiarizing himself with a complex series of circuit diagrams and 3-D renderings—the raw empirical designs for the Key pirated by Saldana herself. A fully equipped "fab lab" surrounds him in readiness: a facility in which any kind of device can be built, including a functioning copy of Stephen Bartowski's pivotal invention.

Manoosh opens, closes, and shuffles windows on his monitor screen, while typing on a digital notepad in sync with the dance music pulsing in his ears. He bounces energetically in his swivel chair and slaps the soles of his sneakers against the floor, unconcerned with the electronic tether strapped on just above his right ankle. And if he's aware that Agent Juanita Saldana and Professor Fleming are watching him on a surveillance monitor in an adjacent room, that isn't fazing him in the least either.

Saldana, standing alongside the Professor in his wheelchair, watches Manoosh work with unconcealed pride in her eyes. But Fleming's outlook is more cynical.

"Can he be trusted?" the Professor asks his former student. "He's an MIT man after all. You know I prefer to play with an all-Stanford bench."

She laughs softly. _"Sí_…but at the present time Manoosh Depark is the best available athlete. And up to the task, I think."

"We shall see."

For a while, they continue to watch Manoosh at his labors. Then Fleming remembers another concern, and lifts his face inquisitively toward Saldana.

"I found it interesting—and worrisome, my dear Juanita," he notes, "that you were finally able to secure the schematics for the Key right about when I was making my case to the Bartowskis. I hope my trip to Chicago wasn't simply intended as a distraction."

"_¡Por supuesto que no_—of _course_ it was not!" counters Saldana with mock indignation. "We both had valid orders. Perhaps the Agency was hedging its bets, but I am certain my superiors believed your arguments could win the day. Except that Sarah proved as intransigent as ever."

"Yes." Fleming sighs sadly. "And…I'm not supposed to know exactly _how_ you got the intel…am I?"

Saldana pats him gently on the shoulder. "No laws were broken, sir. That much I can say. And now…with the assistance of Mr. Depark, I will soon have Keys made here. And that will put _our_ team on the inside track to a fully reliable Human Intersect modality."

The Professor perks up. "That will help a great deal, Juanita, but in the meantime we're already making progress—surprisingly good progress, all things considered. Thanks to the data sets on Winterbottom and Shaw that you provided, we might even be a little farther along than the good Doctor Woodcomb is right now."

Saldana beams in approval—but Fleming shrugs.

"Of course," he continues, lifting his eyebrows, "we'd be even nearer to our goal if I'd been able to study even one of those two subjects _in vivo,_ rather than _in silico."_

"I know, Professor…I know. Such a pity Shaw is dead. As for Winterbottom, we have operatives assiduously searching the globe for him."

Fleming nods. "We also could have learned much from Chuck and Sarah Bartowski."

"They will see the light eventually," says Saldana. "Hopefully before they are struck down by the oncoming train."

* * *

**Thousands of miles away, on a jumbo jet midway through a red-eye transatlantic flight**

_(Music: "Mission Creep," by Cheatahs)_

_The sleek jumbo streaks through a moonless, clear night high above the Atlantic…._

Sarah makes her way up the compact spiral staircase leading from the sleepy first-class cabin to the lounge deck above. At a distance, she has the look of an elegant and experienced world traveler, in her dark taupe knit maxi-length dress, comfortable low-heel pumps, a single strand of cream-white pearls, and a black leather handbag. But a closer look reveals a pallor to her smooth skin and shakiness in her normally graceful motions. As she ascends the spiral stairs, Sarah is trying hard not to jiggle her innards.

The lounge deck is dimly lit, so that the full glory of the starry sky outside can seep in through the cabin windows. There are no customers at the semicircular bar in the middle of the lounge; just the bartender, who gives Sarah a little wave. She smiles wanly at him and continues past the bar to an aft seating area, where three plush leatherette chairs are set in a half-circle around a tiny table and facing a television screen mounted on the rear bulkhead wall. The TV is on but muted, and running a business news program from CNBC.

Sarah takes her iPhone out of her handbag. As she unlocks the screen and settles down in one of the leatherette chairs, her attention is briefly drawn to a particular news item that appears in the crawl at the bottom of the screen:

…TECH TRENDSETTER ROARK INSTRUMENTS DECLARES BANKRUPTCY—ALL ASSETS TO BE SOLD OFF…

"_Hmmm,"_ Sarah murmurs to herself, before quietly instructing her phone to "Call Mom at home." Waiting for the call to go through, she peers back over her shoulder. The bartender has his back to her, and is busy wiping down a set of highball glasses.

The face of her mother Emma appears on her screen.

_("Hello? Ohhh! Hi sweetheart!") _

Sarah holds the phone close so that she can speak out of the bartender's earshot.

"Hi, Mom. I thought it was still early enough back in California that I could call."

_("Of course it is. Any time is fine really. Molly's in bed though. How are you doing?")_

"Okay…now that I'm over the initial shock."

_("It'd be a lie if I told you I'm not thrilled,"_ Emma joyfully replies.)

"That's what I figured."

_("But how are _you_ doing…?")_

"Well…considering that I'd been telling Chuck over and over again that I didn't feel ready to be a mother yet…." Sarah rolls her eyes and takes a long breath.

_("Well,"_ says Emma cautiously, _"that's certainly understandable, dear…it's only been a few months since your accident—")_

"But I guess we got a little careless," Sarah interrupts, "and now it's happened—and maybe you're going to be shocked, Mom—but I'm _happy_…and so excited! For the first time since I…since my accident, I feel…well, just _normal_ again! Can you believe it?"

_("Of course I can, Sarah—it's you! You're going to be a loving, caring mother—and Chuck will be a terrific father. I'll bet he's all excited too…isn't he?")_

"Oh, he is, for sure…though when Ellie first told us, he freaked out more than I did!" Sarah giggles and shakes her head at the recollection. "But you know he's really happy too…and he's taking very good care of me, whenever I let him."

_("That's so wonderful,"_ says Emma._ "So you aren't just calling me for reassurance then.")_

"No…but I _do_ have an important—and kind of personal—question for you."

Sarah's expression abruptly turns sheepish—and Emma breaks into a knowing grin.

_("It's either about having sex during pregnancy, or morning sickness…isn't it?")_

"_Mother!"_ Sarah blurts out, startling the bartender. She blushes and lowers her voice back down to a whisper. "No—no issues with sex. It's the morning sickness. Not just morning! Afternoon…evening…midnight…I'm just feeling _bleah_ all the time."

_("I thought you looked a little out of sorts, dear. And I still remember having it pretty bad too, back when I was carrying you.")_

"What goes around," Sarah ruefully notes. "So what works for it?"

_("Ginger. Ginger ale, ginger tea, ginger snaps—anything with ginger in it will help tremendously.")_

Sarah glances toward the bar and smiles. "Talk about your perfect timing."

She and Emma continue their teleconversation for a few more minutes, then part fondly. Sarah slings her handbag over her shoulder, eases to her feet, and goes to the bar. The bartender awaits her with a friendly smile, glad to have a customer at this wee hour. He's greying, perhaps somewhere in his early sixties, and has kindly eyes.

"What would you like, young lady?"

"Double ginger ale, please. Light on the ice."

"You got it!" He tosses a half-scoop of ice cubes into a tall glass, reaches for his soda gun, and meticulously fills Sarah's glass to within a few millimeters of the brim with the bubbly, light-amber beverage. He sets it down on a cocktail napkin in front of her.

Sarah takes a big gulp of the ginger ale and sighs gratefully, feeling some relief even as it goes down. She sets her iPhone on the bar and opens a tourist website: NEW!—RIVERBOAT GAMING CRUISES ON THE RHINE! She quickly becomes absorbed in studying the text and images.

The bartender abruptly looks up and past her, toward the stairs. Someone else has come up to the lounge deck. Without turning around, Sarah smiles, having made Chuck by the barely audible rhythm of his footsteps. A second later, he slips his arms around her waist.

"Hel_-looo_ there, gorgeous yet tragically unaccompanied lady," Chuck croons as he releases her and takes the barstool by her side. He's wearing a blue blazer over a grey oxford shirt and cardinal-red tie, slightly loosened. He leans toward Sarah for a kiss. She surprises him by turning her head so that his kiss lands on her cheekbone rather than her lips.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," she murmurs. "A little worried about my breath right now."

Chuck takes a gentle sniff and shrugs. "Nothing but ginger, babe—you're good. I was wondering where you'd gotten to. I'd say something like _'you know you can't get away from me when we're in a jet forty thousand feet over the ocean'_…except that you probably could."

Sarah smiles mischievously. "But why would I? You knocked me up—you're twice as stuck with me now."

They both laugh at that—then, their conversation momentarily halts as the bartender comes over and lays a napkin down in front of Chuck.

"For you, sir?" he asks.

"Oh, right…" Chuck gestures toward Sarah's half-empty glass. "Whatever my wife's having is fine for me. Thanks."

"I didn't want to wake you," Sarah continues after the bartender steps away. "You looked so comfortable curled up in your seat. So I came up here to give my Mom a call and chat about lady stuff. She sends you her love."

"That's nice. She and Molly doing well?"

"Yes…both are fine."

"Great! I'd have been up here sooner—but I had to check all the forward lavatories first." He shoulder-bumps her…but tenderly.

"H'yeah," Sarah chortles. "Except that by now, there isn't anything left inside for me to hurl."

"You poor thing. Better drink up," Chuck suggests, as the bartender brings him his own glass of ginger ale and tops Sarah's glass off. "Gotta keep you well hydrated, for the little rugrat's sake."

Sarah shoulder-bumps him back—with a bit more _oomph._

"Been thinking about that little rugrat," she says. "A baby will bring some rather drastic changes to our lifestyle. No more jet-setting for quite some time."

Chuck nods. "Seems to fit in nicely with our plans to scale back on the more hazardous aspects of our work, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes—absolutely—but are we going to be okay with that?"

"Why not? There'll be plenty of jobs you and I can do from Castle or the office…or even home. Ellie's still gonna need help with her research. And I haven't even _started_ on mining those files we copied from The Octopus—"

"That's not what I meant, sweetie," Sarah cuts in. "Everything you just rattled off is fine, but none of it pays nearly as well as the big off-site contracts—like this one now that we've got in Germany." She points to the images on her iPhone screen. "Our little company's been on an upward trend all this year, and I'd sure like to keep that going."

"Yeah," agrees Chuck, now sporting one of his classic goofy grins. "Especially since we've got to start saving up for college tuition and all that."

Sarah swats him on the arm and playfully growls, "You'd better not be making fun of me!"

"No, no…I'm just staying optimistic. We'll be just fine, babe. I mean—between the two of us, just think about the skill set we command!"

"True that. And before you know it, it'll be 'between the _three_ of us.' Or is that '_among_ the three of us?' Anyway, our rugrat's going to be one formidable addition to Clan Bartowski. And—oh, wait a sec—look!"

Sarah's sixth sense draws her notice back to the TV across the bar, just as the news item about Roark Instruments going broke shows up again.

She points to the screen. "Did you hear about _that?"_

Chuck squints to read the text on the crawl—then his body jolts in astonishment. "Wow—no I didn't!"

"I suppose it was bound to happen," reasons Sarah, "without Roark at the helm."

"Yeah. Ted was an evil SOB and he robbed my Dad blind, but nobody can say he didn't know his market inside and out."

"Indeed." Sarah finishes off her ginger aie and reaches down to squeeze her husband's knee. "You know, I'm feeling _much_ better. Ready to go back downstairs?"

"Sure…."

"Any chance the kids are asleep down there in first class?"

"Alex was, but you know Morgan—he's doing that silly meditation he thinks keeps the plane flying. Why do you ask…?"

Sarah chooses to explain by running her forefinger lightly up Chuck's leg, from his knee toward his waist. She bends and whispers huskily in his ear:

"'_Cause I was thinking we'd put a date movie on your iPad, with two sets of earbuds and a nice big blanket…and maybe engage in some clandestine ops."_

"_You _are_ feeling better,"_ Chuck murmurs in her ear. _"But in the middle of first class? We'll have to keep it PG."_

"_Maybe,"_ replies Sarah. _"Maybe not. What was that you just said about our combined skill set…?"_

_(Opening credits and "Short Skirt, Long Jacket" theme by Cake)_


	2. Chapter 1

**CHUCK VERSUS DAS BOOT (Chuck 6-07)**

The seventh episode of an imaginary sixth season of _Chuck_.

**Disclaimer:** Nein, nein, _Chuck_ ist nicht mein Immobilien.

* * *

**A/N:** According to FF dot net, only about 4% of visitors to this story site leave reviews. My fervent thanks to those 4%...but I hope the rest of y'all know that just a few words from you, typed in that Review box at the bottom after every chapter _**really**_ encourage an author to keep on writing new stuff...just sayin'...thanks...anthro

* * *

**SPECIAL A/N:** If you would like to see a _Chuck _movie someday, **PLEASE** donate to Zac Levi's _**"I Want My NerdHQ"**_ fundraiser **NOW**. Go to **_Indiegogo dot com_** and type "I Want My NerdHQ" in the search box at upper right. _Any_ donation...even $5...will help. This campaign has been described as a "down payment" on a possible crowd-funded _Chuck_ movie in the future. So it matters! Thanks again...anthro

* * *

**CHAPTER 1**

**First day, late morning, in the town of Kehl am Rhein, in southwestern Germany on the French border**

Their contact from La Plata Global Gaming meets up with Chuck and Sarah high in a blandish modern office tower at some distance from the Rhine River docks—but they can clearly see the boat from there. The La Plata man points it out to them. Chuck takes out a set of binoculars so that he and Sarah can take a good look at the substantial luxury vessel: three decks; sleek lines; wide windows; spotless and gleaming. Her name—GELIEBTEN LORELEi—proudly emblazoned along the bow.

"Tourist cruises on the Rhine are already huge business…and getting huger," their contact explains. He didn't say where he was from, but his accent isn't German. He sounds vaguely Canadian, like someone from around Toronto.

"Now the German government's changed their law to allow gaming on board domestic cruise boats. Nobody's had an opportunity to try it before."

"And this is a pilot project?" asks Chuck.

"Correct, Mr. Carmichael. We don't own the boat or the crew. We've simply leased space on the promenade deck for our operation. This is La Plata's first venture into floating casinos, and so it's the first time we don't have complete control over the infrastructure. That makes my bosses _extremely_ nervous."

"Got it." Chuck scribbles a few notes with a stylus on his iPad. "What are your primary cybersecurity concerns?"

"Computer-assisted cheating is probably not a big issue with a captive clientele, but we'd like you to test for vulnerability anyway."

"Okay."

"What we're most worried about," continues the La Plata man, "is data theft by external hackers. Our player database is continuously updated with every throw of the dice and every hand played. There'll be a huge two-way flow of juicy credit and behavioral data. Same thing goes for funds transfers, which are all-digital and 24/7. Players can only use smart cards and devices in the casino—no cash at all."

"Plenty of incentives for aggressive cyberattack," suggests Sarah, "spread out over four days and three hundred and twenty klicks of river."

"Exactly, Ms. Carmichael. But we're confident you'll show us how to parry any and all attacks, eh?"

"Count on it," Chuck confidently answers.

"Good. And finally…we want you both to work clandestinely—at least at first—so that our team doesn't know they're being scrutinized. I'm told that's a specialty of your firm."

Sarah and Chuck both nod affirmatively.

"You'll be mingling with millionaires and possibly a few celebrities. The _Geliebten Lorelei_ caters to a comparatively high-end crowd. People who like their own kind…_and_ their privacy."

Chuck smiles. "We've had experience with that demographic."

"So I understand. We'll leave the choice of your cover identities up to you—but nothing related to high technology, eh? We don't want to risk inadvertently tipping our people off about the cybersecurity audit."

"That will be fine," says Sarah. "We already have a suitable cover in mind."

"Will anyone on board be aware of what we're really there to do?" Chuck asks.

"Just the captain…Captain Stübing—"

"_That's his real name?" _Chuck blurts out with a guffaw. "Captain _Stubing?"_

"Umm…it's _Stübing_, not Stubing…but yes, that's right," mumbles the La Plata man, not sure why Chuck is so amused. Sarah looks mystified too, but she tosses out a chuckle anyway, to play along with her husband.

"We'll brief the captain shortly before you board. But he won't let on or interfere unless you request it. He has no direct role in our operation, but as he commands the vessel we thought it prudent to inform him about your audit."

"Okay," Chuck says as he takes a few more notes. "I assume he's a reasonable guy."

"Very much so. You'll like him, I think. As a matter of fact, the entire ship's crew is friendly and most accommodating. So nice, one might suspect they're hiding something, eh?"

The La Plata man winks at Chuck and Sarah. "That's meant in jest, of course…."

* * *

**An hour later, not far from the Rhine River docks**

Carmichael's Four assemble in a quiet, tree-shaded parking lot where a plain white Mercedes-Benz Sprinter rental van has been left for them. The van has no side or rear windows and looks quite ordinary from the outside.

"Let's see what a hefty advance and an old Agency contact bought for us," says Chuck excitedly, as he opens the van and ushers Alex, Morgan, and Sarah inside.

An instant later, all four of them simultaneously mouth: _Wow._

The interior is outfitted with all the latest surveillance and communications equipment. There are two separate duty stations, each ergonomically configured around a comfortable swivel chair bolted to the van floor. At the rear of the van there is a compact kitchen and even a fold-out bed, already fully made.

Morgan pulls out the bed and makes suggestive eyebrows at Alex, who rolls her eyes and folds the bed back up again.

"Incorrigible," Alex bemoans. "We're on a _mission_, Morgan!"

"Long hours together on surveillance _can_ sometimes be…stimulating…" Sarah's tone of voice suggests that she's just needling Alex—but a dreamy look comes into her eyes for a moment. Nearby, Chuck turns his head, as if he's very interested in the equipment rack all of a sudden.

"Well not in here! No way," Alex insists. "Not after I've already tracked down the location of every _Landhaus_ from here to Koblenz! We have our per diem and we're gonna use it." She summarily folds her arms across her chest.

"You'll be plenty busy anyway," Chuck tells Morgan. "All of us will. Between scanning for external cyberthreats, and deploying our own random mock attacks…it's occurred to Sarah and me that none of us'll have much time for sleep for a couple of days."

"Whatever," Morgan retorts, and eyeballs the various devices arranged at his duty station. He points out a grey metal box with a plastic dome on top. _"Hey! _Is this—"

"Yep," replies Chuck. "A Roark RSIT-5854 wi-fi transmitter. Best model on the market, as we learned on the FlixPix job. We've gotta be armed at least as well as our competition."

"_Sweet!"_ Morgan settles contentedly into his chair. "But I sure hope we'll never need the warranty now that R. I.'s gone belly-up!"

"Chuck, the cybersecurity audit looks good to go," says Alex. "But what are we going to do about Jeff and Lester? Are they still the sub-mission?"

"Sub-mission, yes…and _your_ primary targets," Chuck instructs her.

Alex is mildly surprised. "Hmm?"

"Babe, you wanna brief her?"

Sarah nods, leans over the keyboard at Alex's workstation, and enters a few commands. A transcript of Lester and Jeff's mystery playlist, a few assorted documents, and a blurry image of the two wayward musicians on a city street pop up on the big monitor screen.

"That's all the intel we have right now," notes Sarah. "But as you know, the DVD was mailed from Mannheim and Jeff's Facebook activity—at least until four days ago—also places him in or very near Mannheim."

She points to one of the on-screen documents. "And _this _is a Mannheim college student's blog post about a group matching _Jeffster!_'s description, playing in a battle of the bands in a local coffee house a week ago."

"But since then…nothing," adds Chuck.

"The _Geliebten Lorelei _makes a day stop in Mannheim on the third morning of the cruise," Sarah says. "By then we'll have the La Plata job wrapped and we'll be free to tackle Lester and Jeff."

Immediately after saying that, she makes an unpleasant face. "Umm…maybe the wrong choice of words there." All four of them laugh heartily.

"Anyway," Chuck says to Alex after a moment, "you're point on the sub-mission, and your objective is to locate either or both of 'em as soon as possible. When you do, try to establish communication…but keep it low-key, until we find out exactly _why_ they sent us that bizarre message in music."

"Piece of cake!" Alex proclaims, and sits down to start studying the intel that Sarah posted on her monitor screen.

Wishing to appear no less diligent than his lady, Morgan hurriedly pivots around to boot up his own computer. Sarah and Chuck look on with satisfaction—then get started on packing their spy gear and three days' worth of formal and vacation outfits.

* * *

**That afternoon, at the slip where the **_**Geliebten Lorelei**_** is docked**

_(Music: "Fernweh," by Herbert Grönemeyer)_

Chuck and Sarah arrive dockside by cab, looking vigorous, stylish, and summer-light: he's in a tan suit with a teal tie, and she's in a teal one-shoulder dress. A young blond crewmember—whose muscles fill out a gold T-shirt and white slacks—appears, to help Sarah out of the vehicle and handle the baggage. He smiles and points toward the gangplank, and scurries off with the his-and-her suitcases.

There is nothing left for Sarah and Chuck to do but join a slow-moving, merry procession of similarly well-dressed couples and casual groups winding their way up onto the boat, which is festive with multicolored banners and balloons bobbing in a mild warm breeze coming off the river.

Chuck nuzzles the back of his wife's neck. "Nice fragrance you've got on."

Sarah wriggles at his touch. "Hey—you're tickling me! But thanks, sweetie. It's Missoni Acqua. Seemed the right accent for a cruise."

At the top of the gangplank Captain Stübing enthusiastically welcomes his passengers. He's a portly short blond-goateed bald man in a snappy white dress uniform. The Captain is jovial and animated: he smiles, belly-laughs, and rocks back and forth on his heels as he greets each new group with handshakes, friendly backslaps, and even an occasional bear hug. Some of the passengers seem to know him well already.

Alongside the Captain stands a taller, thinner, clean-shaven man in a pale-grey suit. He's smiling too—but much more sparely, and he shakes the passengers' hands less demonstrably, after Stübing has had at them.

Eventually it is Sarah and Chuck's turn to be greeted. The Captain seizes their hands with gusto and rumbles, _"Wilkommen! Wilkommen sein! _Velcome aboard our be_loff_ed _Lorelei,_ _meinen Herr und Frau—"_

He glances sideways at the quiet man beside him, who murmurs, "Carmichael."

"_Ach ja, natürlich_—_Herr und Frau _Carmichael!" He gives Chuck an exaggerated wink as he goes on pumping his right hand.

"Happy to meet you, Captain Stubing—" Chuck offers.

"Ha! Forgiff me, Herr Carmichael…but it's _Stübing!_ _Kapitän_ Emil Stübing, at your zervice. _Und_ zo too is the chentleman here _mit_ me—Herr Taschenratte—_unser Zahlmeister_…uh, zat is, the purser."

"Delighted, Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael," says Taschenratte, in completely unaccented English, as he bends forward to softly air-kiss the back of Sarah's right hand. As he does, Chuck catches sight of a tiny earpiece in the man's left ear.

Sarah chuckles at the old-school courtesy. _"Es ist mir eine Freude,"_ she tells Taschenratte, who smiles and nods in acknowledgment. (Subtitled: It is my pleasure.)

Then Chuck and Sarah are gently swept forward by the tide of passengers still in line behind them, and onto the sunny upper deck of the _Geliebten Lorelei—_where revelers are wandering about with drinks in their hands, and a battalion of attractive young servers with full trays are scrambling among them to keep the drinks flowing.

"Surprising that Herr Teschmacher knew who we were?" Chuck asks.

Sarah shrugs. "It's his job. Or maybe someone's feeding him intel. You saw the earbud, right?"

"Uh huh. Should we go below first and check out our cabin? We oughtta make sure our gear arrives there safely." Chuck shifts his attention from his lovely wife to the milling crowd, peering through them in search of the nearest companionway down to the lower decks.

"Roger that." Sarah slips her arm inside Chuck's and starts to take a step forward—but suddenly her husband is frozen in place, with his eyes narrowed and his pupils juddering to and fro, for a full six seconds! Then his head jerks and his body wobbles.

"That was quite a flash," Sarah comments in a low voice, as she pulls Chuck's arm tighter to steady him.

"Yeah—on about half the passengers in sight!" he mutters in reply, still dazed. "Tax evasion. Smuggling. Insider trading. Bribery. All kinds of sleaze. I don't know about the crew—not yet—but our fellow travelers are motley enough on their own!"

"The decadent rich," observes Sarah.

* * *

Their cabin is on the promenade deck, one level down from the upper deck, and a very short stroll from the entrance to the La Plata Lorelei onboard casino. It's smaller than most of the cabins on the luxury vessel—but still bright, airy, and sumptuously outfitted with plush furniture, trendy toiletries, and a fragrant bouquet of fresh-cut flowers. Chuck and Sarah's two small suitcases had been left for them in the center of the cabin, and they get right to work unpacking them.

In an undisturbed compartment concealed beneath Chuck's clothing is the cybersecurity equipment, including a surveillance detector. Chuck takes it in hand and starts to sweep the cabin for hidden bugs, while Sarah hoists her suitcase onto the bed. She opens a similar secret compartment, but this one holds two handguns, a tranq pistol, two sets of throwing knives…and a small pearly-white cosmetic case with a fancy curlicued top that looks completely out of place.

Sarah sits on the queen-size bed, removes the fancy case and pops it open, then gazes with satisfaction on eight very authentic-looking false fingernails and two tiny microchips. Humming softly to herself, she attaches one of the fake nails to her right index finger—it's a perfect fit.

"Room's clean," Chuck announces, and tosses the detector back into his suitcase.

"That's good," Sarah replies without diverting her attention from her work. She slides one of the microchips beneath her right thumbnail. The microchip has a fast-acting adhesive on it, so it's instantly and strongly affixed under the nail, out of sight.

"And here I thought we were being a little paranoid, packing all that firepower for a mostly ELINT job," says Chuck. "But after that flash I just had, I'm glad we did."

Then he notices that his wife is up to something, and comes over to sit on the bed next to her.

"What's that, baby?"

"A little surprise." Sarah holds out her hand, fingers splayed, so that she can inspect the false nail. It looks good. Her real fingernails are already painted to match the color of the fake one, so it blends in well. Satisfied, she turns toward Chuck.

"If you had a _normal_ wife," she goes on, "then by 'a little surprise' I might be referring to some new and sexy lingerie. But I think you're gonna like this too."

Sarah holds up her right hand and taps the thumb and index finger together three times in rapid succession—as if she's giving Chuck the OK sign—and a two-centimeter-long knife blade, thin and transparent as fine glass, silently slides out from beneath the fake fingernail. Chuck whistles softly in nerdish appreciation of his warrior spouse's new high-tech appendage.

"Single-crystal zirconia," Sarah says proudly. "Sharper and tougher than any metal blade—it'll cut through a steel cable. And way more elegant than any concealed knives I've used before. Pretty cool, don't you think?"

"I'll say! Where'd you get it?"

Two more taps of the thumb and forefinger, and the subtle knife retracts.

"Carina sent a whole box. A thank-you gift for helping her out with that drug bust in Arizona. She sent something for you too." Sarah's expression turns mischievous. She reaches back into her suitcase…and brings out some new and sexy lingerie!

Chuck whistles again—much more emphatically this time.

"It was a gift card for Victoria's Secret. She said I needed to wear things like this for you _while I still can!_ Her exact words."

Sarah's lips droop into a peeved pout. "She always has to get that little dig in…."

Chuck _tsk-tsks_ and takes her in his arms.

"She's just jealous. You know full well that as far as _I'm_ concerned, you'll be hotter than hot no matter what trimester it is."

Sarah sighs happily and lays her head on his shoulder. "I _do_ know, but I still love to hear it. And you're welcome to keep going."

"Okay then…how about: Pregnancy is beautiful, and you'll be the most stunning pregnant woman on the—"

Chuck stops in mid-sentence and goes a bit pale. Sarah lifts her head and looks at him with concern.

"What's the matter, sweetie?"

"Babe…there's no chance of one of those fake fingernails deploying by accident…is there? I could think of a _really_ bad time for that to happen…."

Sarah giggles. "Hmm, whatever could you be thinking of? But of course not, silly. I can lock them down if I need to."

Then she brings her face up close to his, coos, "Though a little risk might heighten the thrill…wouldn't you say?" and lightly rakes her fingertips across his back.

"Talk about crazy in love," Chuck murmurs in her ear.

Sarah retorts, "You have _no_ idea," and playfully bites his lower lip. That leads directly to heated soul-kissing—until Sarah and Chuck both nearly tumble off the bed when the basso voice of _Kapitän_ Stübing blasts out from a loudspeaker in the passageway just outside their cabin:

"_Darf ich um Ihre Aufmerksamkeit bitten? Wir fahren in fünfzehn minuten! May I have your attention, please, guests? We depart in fifteen minutes!"_

"Oh yeah, right," Chuck grumbles. "Work to do."

"If you can call it that," Sarah counters, as she takes in all of their comfy cabin and the generous view of the river through their cabin window.

* * *

**Twenty minutes later**

_The _Geliebten Lorelei_ casts off from the dock and glides out into the middle of the river channel, smoothly cleaving the deep-green water, beginning its relaxed journey down the storied Rhine past tree-lined banks and pastoral fields..._

A few passengers linger on the upper deck to wave goodbye to friends and loved ones. But most of them head to the promenade deck and the alluring new _La Plata Lorelei_ floating casino—Sarah and Chuck among them.

Inside, the décor is distinct from that of the rest of the ship: emphasizing dark woods and polished brass instead of tinted glass and chrome. Table games—blackjack, craps, roulette, and baccarat—predominate here. There are only a few slot machines and these are far less showy than the raucous, cartoony types common to American mega-casinos. The bar is centrally placed—and as of yet, empty of patrons—although the pretty servers are already fanning out from there with their cocktail trays.

Chuck and Sarah station themselves at the bar and order drinks for cover, then start to reconnoiter the room according to their complementary skills. Sarah studies the players and the staff. Chuck inobtrusively wields his amped-up iPhone. It appears as if he's texting, but he's actually using a custom app to gauge the level of cell-phone and other signals traffic in and out of the casino: data transmitted directly to Morgan in the spy van for later analysis.

"Very diverse clientele," Sarah quietly notes. "Plenty of Middle Easterners as well as Europeans. And the serving staff seems predominantly female, young, and attractive." She nudges Chuck with her elbow. "I'm sure you've noticed that part."

"Only in passing, babe," he replies with a grin. "Only in passing. But have _you_ noticed how many of 'em there seem to be—both in here _and_ all over the ship?"

"Yes—by my count, about two servers for every passenger. That seems excessive."

Chuck nods. "You'd think so. But maybe it's the kind of excess that the decadent rich demand—"

"_Hello!"_ suddenly comes a friendly, British-accented male voice from behind them.

Startled, Chuck and Sarah turn in that direction and are greeted by a middle-aged man about Sarah's height; with a good build, lean suntanned face, sea-blue eyes, and a full head of silver hair. He's wearing a black jacket over a blue-and-white floral print shirt with the collar wide open. He looks like a happily retired B-list actor or rock musician. Chuck slips his iPhone into his jacket pocket and steels himself for another Intersect flash.

"Ey up, mi duck," the man continues while shaking Chuck's hand. "M'name's Graydon Lightfoot but please call me Grady."

"We're Charles and Sarah Carmichael." Chuck relaxes slightly when he fails to flash on the man's face. Grady bows his head as he shakes Sarah's hand.

"Yanks, are you?"

"We are," Sarah replies.

"Splendid!" Grady bellows. "I'm relieved to find at least a few drinkers of distinction in our party." He flicks his hand derisively at the knots of people clustered around the different table games. "All those Saudis and Emiratis—they'll come here to gamble like mad but they still draw the line at alcohol. And I'd rather hate to spend three whole days drinking alone!"

"Not _quite_ alone!" interjects a smoky-voiced woman who approaches from the direction of the baccarat tables.

"Oh, hello luv—meet our new friends, Charles and Sarah Carmichael." Grady gives her a quick peck on the cheek. "This is my wife Cherise."

"Well _hi_ there—it's _such_ a pleasure," Cherise Lightfoot says breathily, extending both hands out as if she was intent on a group hug.

She's a fiftyish stunner: taller than her husband and nearly as tall as Chuck; green-eyed; with shoulder-length reddish-gold hair and a few subdued hints of grey; and inescapably curvaceous in a form-fitting cream-colored dress. As she moves in close to Sarah and Chuck to shake their hands, she assails them with the aroma of a sweet and faintly musky _eau de cologne_. The scent reflexively sets Sarah's teeth on edge, but she conceals her irritation and only Chuck picks up on it.

Then Cherise turns her face toward Chuck and gives him a supermodel smile—and he flashes _big time_ on her: _American—high society—expatriate—SPY!—former MI-6 exfiltration expert—dismissed without prejudice—details redacted…!_

Whether this strange brassy woman noticed Chuck's "flash face" or not, Sarah realizes that she's staring for an awkwardly long time at him—as if she sees something that's intrigued her…or something she _wants…._


	3. Chapter 2

**CHUCK VERSUS DAS BOOT (Chuck 6-07)**

The seventh episode of an imaginary sixth season of _Chuck_ continues.

**Disclaimer:** Huh-uh, don't own _Chuck…._

* * *

**CHAPTER 2**

**Second day, early morning: at a small family-run **_**Landhaus**_** in the riverside town of Hügelsheim **

Morgan and Alex exit the hotel into a cool, damp, quiet morning just past dawn. They stagger in an almost drunken way, across the parking lot to their spy van, with Alex a half-step in the lead and Morgan pulling their shared overnight roller bag behind him…_thump_ing and_ bump_ing over cracks in the asphalt.

"_Ohhhh,"_ Alex moans dizzily. "I'm _sooo_ stuffed—but I swear, that was one of the best breakfasts I've ever had!

"Double roger that," concurs Morgan. "All those different _Brötchen_…that Black Forest ham…and the cheeses—the cheeses! Is this really how they eat around here?"

"If it is, we're gonna need to run three laps around Germany every evening," muses Alex as she unlocks the van and climbs inside. Morgan passes the bag up to her and gets in, closing the door behind him.

Inside, blinking LEDs, columns of code rolling lazily up monitor screens, and a soft hum together tell of a night's worth of automated data collection.

Morgan rubs his hands together excitedly. "The real work begins—a whole day of 'phased dummy cyberattacks using multiple vectors'—that's how Chuck put it, of course."

Alex grins. "In other words, getting paid to poke big holes in your employer's most secure systems."

"And with extreme prejudice," Morgan says gleefully, as he takes his seat at his duty station. "How many people can say they get to do _that? _Gotta love C. I…huh?"

"Yeah…I suppose." But now Alex seems troubled by something.

"What's the matter, honey?"

"Morgan…do we have time to talk?" Alex flops down into her swivel chair and rolls closer to her boyfriend, as he glances up at a chronometer mounted on the van wall.

"Sure. Chuck and Sarah were scoping the casino until pretty late last night. They're probably just getting up about now. So yeah…what's bothering you, babe?"

"It's C. I., actually." Alex reaches out and takes both of Morgan's hands in hers. "Sarah and Chuck are going to have a baby. A family! Things are going to change…maybe not right away, but eventually. We need to be prepared."

Morgan leans forward and kisses her tenderly on the cheek. "Don't worry about that. Chuck and Sarah aren't just gonna throttle back and turn us out on the street. _We're_ family too—"

Alex clucks her tongue. "I'm not worried about what _they_ do, silly—I'm worried about _us!_ We can't just depend on Sarah and Chuck—or on anybody else—for security the whole rest of our lives! We need to have more options."

Still holding Morgan's hands, she looks him in the eye.

"_You_…need to have more options."

Morgan jerks upright in his chair. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

"You never finished college," Alex continues. "You need to go back. You're smart and you know full well that people with degrees do better than people without them."

Her tone of voice gets more emphatic. "Chuck never could've been a CIA agent and none of _this_ would have been possible"—she gestures at all the sophisticated equipment in the van—"if he hadn't completed his Stanford degree."

"With Sarah's help," retorts Morgan defensively. "She told you 'bout all that, didn't she?"

Alex nods yes. "She was just righting a wrong. And so what? Chuck still earned it. Maybe it's time for you to earn yours."

Looking perplexed, Morgan asks, "And how do we swing that?"

"What if I support us _both_ for a while and you go back to school?" Alex suggests. "I can ask Sarah and Chuck to let me take on more of the work…at a higher salary."

"Or," she adds matter-of-factly, "if _they_ can't swing _that_, I'll just go find something else. I have a _very_ marketable degree!"

Alex's expression proves that she's completely serious, and Morgan's expression reveals that she has taken him quite by surprise. Softly, with a little catch in his voice, he asks, "You'd…do that for me, babe?"

Alex smiles and squeezes both of his hands.

"Sure I would—for _us_. Besides, I figure there'll eventually be a decent return on my investment." Playfully, she holds her open left hand up in front of Morgan's face and wiggles the ring finger—then, after a moment, she cries, _"Kidding!"_

"Oh, I hope not," Morgan avows, and happily kisses his lady.

* * *

**Aboard the **_**Geliebten Lorelei**_**, a few kilometers upstream**

Chuck and Sarah, in L. A.-style yachting attire, enter the elegant, quiet dining room on the promenade deck. There are few diners yet—but as always, there are plenty of young, energetic servers bustling about.

On the opposite side of the room near the swinging double doors to the kitchen, the purser Taschenratte stands, in his grey suit, hands on hips, silently observing everything. He seems to be pleased with what he sees. He smiles and gives a friendly—if restrained—wave to Sarah and Chuck as the hostess leads them to a table alongside a big window. Then he pivots on his heels and darts into the kitchen.

A waiter is already there to hold Sarah's chair out for her, while Chuck takes a seat facing his wife across the small round table. Outside their window, the Rhine meanders among a number of glittering azure lakes just beyond its grassy banks: old flooded gravel pits rendered picturesque by time.

After the hostess hands them menus, and she and the waiter step away, Sarah leans across the table, grinning at Chuck and tapping her fingertips on the tabletop.

"Thank goodness you made it through the night without sustaining any grievous wounds," she teases.

"I was about to say the same about you," replies Chuck.

"_Hah!" _Sarah snickers—but under cover of the long white tablecloth, she strokes her leg against his.

A waitress—diminutive, young, and very pretty, with braided jet-black hair and dark indigo eyes—bustles over to their table with a tea-cart, to offer them a selection of beverages.

"Ginger-root tea, please," Sarah asks with a cordial smile.

"Coffee for me, thanks," Chuck says. As the young woman sets a carafe and teapot down on the table, he reads her name badge: _Ich heiße VAMA._ Curiously—but just like all the badges the servers wear—it has a QR code imprinted next to her name.

"Is that Vama, rhymes with _momma_—or Vama, rhymes with _slamma-jamma?"_

Vama giggles. "Like the momma, sir," she replies, in an accent that Chuck has never heard spoken before. Sarah looks up in surprise, studies Vama's features for a moment, and then:

"_Latcho dives…ov yilo isi?"_ (Subtitled: Good day…Did I say that right?)

Vama _gasps_ and nearly topples into her tea-cart.

"_Latcho dives!_ Madam, you—you are right—I am Roma—or Gypsy, as some will call us. But how you know this? And you speak our language?"

"I've traveled some," says Sarah. "But I only know a few Romani phrases. Just enough to be dangerous." She winks at the young server.

"Oh…you do not look dangerous to me, madam," Vama innocently responds.

"Looks can fool ya," Chuck quips—and gets another under-the-table nudge from his wife.

Vama takes their breakfast order and rolls her cart back to the kitchen with a big grin. Chuck and Sarah watch her go, both tickled by her youthful show of excitement.

"She's real sweet," Sarah says.

"And I think you just made her day," suggests Chuck.

Sarah rolls her eyes. "Yeah…but now I'm gonna have to brush up on my Romani."

Chuck laughs—and then, across the dining room, he spots the muscular blond crewmember who had delivered their bags to their cabin the previous afternoon. He waves the young man over to their table.

"How may I help you, mein Herr?" the crewmember asks, leaning down and flashing a crisp smile, his teeth nearly as bright as Sarah's. This time he's got a name badge on: _Ich heiße PJETER._ And there's a QR code on his badge too.

"Yes…um…Peter. You carried our bags for us yesterday—remember?—but we never got a chance to tip you." Chuck reaches for his wallet, but Pjeter shakes his head.

"_Danke schön, _sir…but zere is no need. All gratuities are included in your fare. Ve are pleased to zerve you." He glances from Chuck to Sarah and back again. "_Und_ are you both enjoying your trip zo far?"

"Very much so," Sarah replies cheerfully. "And thank you for asking."

"_Bitte schön, meinen Herr und Frau."_ (Subtitled: You are welcome, Sir and Ma'am.)

Pjeter gives them a little salute and starts back toward the spot where he had previously been standing. Taschenratte emerges from the kitchen, catches sight of the young crewmember, and summons him—just loudly enough that Chuck and Sarah can make his words out:

"_Herr Malota—komm her, bitte."_ Unexpectedly…Chuck _flashes _once again!

Afterward, Sarah takes hold of Chuck's hands and leans toward him—as if she's going to whisper something romantic in his ear.

"Did you just flash on that name?" She peeks warily over Chuck's shoulder at Pjeter and Taschenratte, as they quietly converse on the other side of the room.

"Yeah…_Pjeter Malota_…really bad dude…ran the German branch of the Albanian mafia all through the '70s and '80s."

"He seems way too young," Sarah remarks, with a doubtful expression. "Maybe that's Pjeter, Junior? Or maybe he's no relation at all?"

"Well, that would explain why I haven't flashed on his face," Chuck speculates.

"Hopefully the truth won't be of any concern to us," says Sarah.

"Still, I'm getting a bit of a bad vibe from this whole cruise," Chuck admits…and Sarah nods in agreement.

* * *

Before long, Vama returns, trundling two sumptuous breakfasts to their table. As they eat, Sarah and Chuck quietly talk through their plan of action for the day. They're just about finished with their meal when the assertive scent of Cherise Lightfoot's _eau de cologne_ infiltrates their space.

"Not again." Sarah scrunches up her face and puts down her fork.

Chuck groans and nods toward the two empty chairs at their table, which is barely big enough for the two of them. "We should've had Pjeter take those away for us."

"Too late now," replies Sarah under her breath. "On your six."

"Ey up! 'Owya goin' on then?" From behind, Grady Lightfoot slaps a hand on Chuck's shoulder—and nearly spills the full glass of white wine he's holding in his other hand.

"Mind if we join you?" Cherise Lightfoot asks, then sits down between Sarah and Chuck without waiting for their reply. As she inserts herself into the narrow space, Cherise momentarily props her well-endowed body against Chuck as if to steady herself, while ignoring the scowl she gets from Sarah.

Once seated, she tilts her head toward Chuck and murmurs, "Did you enjoy that?"

Chuck jolts in surprise. _"Huh?"_

"Your breakfast." Cherise points to Chuck's empty plate. "Did you enjoy it? I'll bet it was yummy, if last night's dinner selection was any indication. Pity for me that I don't _eat_…breakfast."

"One does have to watch the calories at your age, I imagine," comments Sarah.

Before his wife can respond, Grady makes a show of hoisting his glass of wine.

"Me, I just like a lil' _milk_ for mi breakfast." He chortles and looks from Chuck to Sarah—fishing for a laugh but getting only baffled smiles instead.

"Bit of a manky pun, I s'pose," he continues after a moment. "This is _Liebfraumilch._ Rhine wine, a local specialty. 'S a pun because the name means—"

"Beloved lady's milk," Sarah translates.

"Ah!" exclaims Chuck. "Got it."

"Delicious." Grady proffers the glass. "Care for a swag, Charles?"

Chuck puts up his hands. "No…thanks but no. It's a bit too early. For me anyway."

"We _wanted_ to catch you early," Cherise says with enthusiasm. She reaches out to pat Chuck's knee, in the process tossing her strawberry-blonde-and-gray mane and wafting a bit more of her man-melting scent at him. "Graydon and I were wondering what plans you two dears might have for today."

Sarah frowns with deep suspicion. "Why do you ask?"

"Got a full day's stop for sightseeing in Karlsruhe today," Grady answers.

"And we thought we might make it a foursome," adds Cherise, winking at Chuck. "It's a _very_ lovely city, you know."

"We know," Sarah echoes, while Chuck tries his utmost to look really disappointed.

"Gee, Cherise…Grady," he says apologetically, "we sure appreciate your invitation. But I actually brought some work that I need to finish up by today."

"_That's_ a shame," pouts Cherise.

"What _is_ your line of work," asks Grady, "if you don't mind mi prying?"

"Don't mind at all," replies Chuck. "Sarah and I are in the laundromat business. Coin-operated laundromats. Amazingly high return and we've pretty much cornered the market in southern California."

"Uh-huh," mutters Grady, who clearly wasn't expecting _that_ for an answer.

Cherise begins to say, "Well, that's…that's…" and awkwardly hesitates, searching for an appropriate adjective…"that's, hmm, surprisingly _mundane_ for such a dynamic-looking couple."

"And what about you two?" asks Sarah, ignoring the snarky backhand. "How'd _you_ make your fortune?"

"With_ talent!" _Cherise exclaims, puffing up her ample chest.

"For _what?"_ Sarah retorts, with her own snarky little smile.

"Oh.._ha-ha_…no, I meant that Graydon and I are talent _scouts_…and agents. For the entertainment industry, of course. Live theater and Broadway musicals, mostly. Our agency has offices in New York and London."

"That's interesting," says Chuck, still trying to keep the situation polite. He instantly regrets the throwaway comment when Cherise pounces on it.

"Oh you have _no_ idea, dear!" She pats Chuck's knee again and starts chattering breathlessly about actors and actresses and their personality quirks….

Sarah rolls her eyes and momentarily shifts her attention to Grady—just in time to catch _his_ eyes wandering to the next table, where Vama is bending low to pour coffee for another diner. He looks the young Romani girl over, top to bottom…not with a leer, but dispassionately, as if he's somehow…_sizing her up? _

Sarah shrugs—they _did_ say they were talent scouts—and turns back to the challenge of freeing herself and her poor husband—courteous to a fault, as usual—from the overbearing Mr. and Mrs. Lightfoot…without having to resort to deadly force.

* * *

**Two hours later, at the **_**Rheinhafen**_** Karlsruhe (the harbor)**

The mid-morning sky is sunny and the air is warming quickly. The _Geliebten Lorelei_ has docked for the day, and most of her passengers have already disembarked for sightseeing, shopping, or daytime debauchery in the vibrant big city of Karlsruhe.

Posing as sun worshippers in swimwear and dark sunglasses, Chuck and Sarah set themselves up on plush lounge chairs in a corner of the mostly open-air upper deck. Chuck has a C. I.-customized tablet computer ready to go beneath his flexing fingers—and a bottle of white wine chilling in a bucket of ice by his side. Sarah has her iPad, and a growler of ginger ale in her own ice bucket. They're both wearing earbuds.

Anyone observing them would think that _he_ was a workaholic who just couldn't resist bringing the office along on vacation—and that _she_ was generously passing up a day in town to keep her mate company, armed with nothing more than an e-book.

"Babe?"

"Uh huh?"

"D'you think Cherise is spying on us? She was MI-6 after all."

Sarah snickers. "Could be…or maybe she's after something _other_ than intel."

"Well, _that's_ a non-starter." Chuck cranes his neck to see what's on his wife's iPad screen. "Checking out their website?"

"Yep. Lightfoot-Lightfoot Consulting, LLC. I'd like to know if their talent agency is really as high-powered as she claims it is."

"Proactive is good," replies Chuck, nodding sagely.

"Hmm." Sarah focuses intently on her screen and starts flipping through the publicity photos posted on the Lightfoots' site. "Can't say I recognize any of these performers or models…Not that I really know anything about Broadway or West End!"

"Nor do I."

"These definitely tend toward the young and…um…well-equipped, either gender." Sarah goes on scanning the photos—occasionally frowning, rolling her eyes, or simply staring slack-jawed. Chuck looks on with increasing amusement.

Eventually, Sarah shakes her head roughly and closes the website.

"Okay—that's enough of that!" She pats her husband on the shoulder. "Just a momentary distraction. I'm ready to roll, sweetie. I'll watch your back while you go elbows-deep into cyberspace."

_(Meanwhile…Morgan and Alex have brought the spy van to the top level of a six-story parking garage located a few blocks from the _Rheinhafen,_ where they have some privacy and a direct line of sight to Chuck and Sarah on deck. While Alex is already immersed in her cyber-search for the whereabouts of Jeff Barnes and Lester Patel, Morgan is poised at his workstation, waiting for orders from Chuck.)_

Chuck opens an encrypted channel and softly intones, "You reading me, buddy?"

(_"Big affirmative," _answers Morgan from inside the van.)

"Good. Stand by. I wanna loosen up first." Chuck leans over and grabs the neck of the brown-glass wine bottle. As he extracts the bottle from the ice bucket, Sarah spies the label and is mildly surprised.

"Hey—that's _Liebfraumilch!_ Not your usual chardonnay?"

"Just putting ol' Grady's recommendation to the test. Besides—when in Karlsruhe…" Chuck winks at her, tilts the bottle up for a quick gulp, and smiles in approval. "It's actually pretty good!"

"In that case, I'm gonna keep one eye on the surroundings and one eye on _you!"_ joshes Sarah. "No way are you ending up like him!"

Chuck laughs, replaces the bottle…and under his wife's proud and watchful gaze, seamlessly shifts into the persona of the _Piranha:_ the master hacker.

_(Music: "Programmiert," by Tim Bendzko)_

The Piranha plunks both of his hands, fingers outspread, onto the touch-screen, as if to play a piano. But this "performance" is a two-pronged mock cyberattack against the casino's information systems. With his left hand, the Piranha deploys a malware package that hammers forcefully against La Plata's firewall—and with his right, he probes the cracks in the code with scalpel-like precision, seeking to insinuate his way into the casino intranet, from which the most vital and potentially valuable transactions could be stolen or compromised by a true enemy.

Over in the van, Morgan is fully in the loop—monitoring the Piranha's hacking line-by-line, and ready to record whatever transpires.

Sarah is multitasking too: carefully watching their perimeter, finishing her analysis of the Lightfoots' website, and glancing over at her husband as he works. He's already elbows-deep and hasn't needed to flash. The Intersect can come in handy sometimes…_but this is all him_. Sarah sighs happily.

"Taking longer than I expected to get in," the Piranha mutters. "I'm impressed."

"They must be listening to your advice," Sarah suggests.

"Some of it anyway. But _heeere_ we go, and—_ah! _Now _that's_ interesting!" He sweeps a finger across his screen in Sarah's direction, and a new document pops up on her iPad.

_(Simultaneously, the same doc appears on Morgan's screen in the spy van.)_

"Go ahead and open it, both of you," the Piranha instructs, without lifting his eyes from his own screen. "That's the complete passenger, crew, and cargo manifest for the _Lorelei._ On La Plata's site."

(_"Something wrong with that?"_ asks Morgan.)

"We were told the boat and the casino are totally separate ops," Sarah points out. "But this would suggest otherwise."

"Exactly! Have a good look at it, babe…maybe you can find some other useful intel on our new friends from London."

Sarah nods. "Will do."

All the while the Piranha is still typing, clicking, and mousing at breakneck speed. A second or so later, he blurts out, _"Aaaaaand_—there's more where _that_ came from!"

"_Hssst!_ Not so loud, sweetie."

"Sorry…but…but look! I can't _believe_ it, babe! The casino's got its own backdoor into the _ship's_ systems! All of 'em—even security and navigation…."

(_"D'you think the cruise line knows that?"_ asks Morgan.)

"Good question! Babe, d'ya think we should confer with Cap'n Stubing—"

"_Stübing,"_ Sarah corrects him.

"Right."

"Let's hold off on that for the time being," she counsels. "We can always mention it in our final report."

"Fair enough," says the Piranha. "Whether the cruise line knows about this or not, I'll bet La Plata corporate has no idea!"

Then—suddenly and surprisingly—he begins to chortle, and tilts his tablet computer in Sarah's direction.

"Check this out babe!" On screen is an image of an old-fashioned ship's wheel, flanked by dozens of more contemporary digital switches and gauges. A live-cam image of the Rhine out in front of the boat extends across the top of the screen.

"Is that what I think it is?" asks Sarah incredulously. "The _bridge?"_

"Yep_—heh-heh—_so d'you wanna drive the boat?"

"Even the Piranha can't be _that_ crazy, can h—" Sarah abruptly looks up in alarm and nudges her husband with her elbow. "Incoming!"

He pulls his computer back, blanks the screen, and is Chuck once more. A moment later Vama arrives—with another pretty, dark-haired young female server in tow. She looks Romani too, and perhaps a year or two older than Vama.

"_Latcho dives!_ Are you both comfortably enjoying yourselves?" Without waiting for a response, Vama points to her companion. "This is my cousin Zora. She is with the waitstaff, just as me."

Chuck smiles and says, "Very nice to meet you, Zora."

Zora smiles back, and gives a little curtsy, but says nothing. As shy and unassuming as Vama is, her cousin is even more so.

"Will you want more soda, madam?" Vama asks after a moment. "Or perhaps more wine for you, sir?"

"I think we're both good," Sarah replies, lifting her sunglasses up to gaze kindly at the two young women. "Thank you for checking though."

Vama and Zora smile and nod, but they don't budge. Instead, they keep staring expectantly and a little abashedly at Sarah—until she finally realizes what they're waiting for.

"_Droboy tume Romale. Chailo sim, nais tuke."_ (Subtitled: Greetings. I am full, thank you.)

"_Nais tuke!"_ Vama and Zora reply in tandem—then run off, giggling.

Once they've gone, Chuck leans over to kiss his wife. "You're the best, baby."


	4. Chapter 3

**CHUCK VERSUS DAS BOOT (Chuck 6-07)**

The seventh episode of an imaginary sixth season of _Chuck_ keeps on cruising.

**Disclaimer: **Same as it ever was: I do not own _Chuck._

* * *

**CHAPTER 3**

**Third day, shortly after midnight, on the lowermost deck of the **_**Geliebten Lorelei**_

From one of the numerous compact but tidy crew cabins—deep in the windowless lower deck of the luxury vessel—the lively sounds of a folk guitar being played vigorously, accompanied by a few female and male voices singing in simple harmony, seep out into the main passageway.

There, the energetic song is swallowed up by the steady _thrumma-thrumma_ throb of the ship's massive engines in the hold below. But the music carries farther in the insulated ventilation ducts that snake through the space between the lower deck and the promenade deck:

"_Moj dilbere, kud' se šećeš?_

_haj što i mene ne povedeš _

_haj što i mene ne povedeš…._

(Subtitled: My darling, where are you going?

Come on why don't you take me there too

come on why don't you take me there too….)

Chuck hears the music because he is crawling through that very ductwork, toward a spot directly beneath the La Plata Lorelei casino on the deck above—and coincidentally, in the direction of the source of the music on the deck below.

Our hero is zipped head-to-toe into a black Tyvek® ops suit, with a palm-sized electronic device affixed to the chest, a compact air-conditioning backpack to keep him cool and comfortable, a micro headset for communication, and low-profile night-vision goggles with a built-in video camera. He couldn't be better equipped for his task, and he has plenty of backup as well.

"_Što te volim, ah što te ljubim _

_aman, aman, Bože moj…_

(Subtitled: How much I love you, ah how much I love you—

enough, enough for God's sake!)

* * *

**In the spy van, about a kilometer away**

"Is that…singing I hear?" asks Morgan, who is keeping tabs on Chuck's movements from the onboard control center, while Alex drives the van. She smoothly pilots the ordinary-looking vehicle through scanty wee-hours traffic on a two-lane scenic road that parallels the Rhine, while keeping the bright lights of the northward-steaming _Lorelei_ always in view.

_("Yes it is,"_ Chuck replies. _"Backed by one helluva good guitarist. It's coming from the crew quarters. Sarah—I don't suppose you recognize the language…?")_

_("__Povedi me, u čaršiju_

_haj pa me prodaj bazardžanu__….)_

(Subtitled: What a terrible man oh he is!

He is taking me to the market

And selling me in the bazaar….)

* * *

**On the promenade deck**

"_Not clear enough to know for sure. Bosnian or Russian maybe,"_ adds Sarah, her voice pitched just loudly enough to register on a tiny mike in the silver pendant necklace she's wearing: a pretty accent for an elegant evening dress as black as Chuck's ops suit.

With an empty cocktail glass in hand, Sarah meanders along the promenade deck near the still very lively casino, making a show of yawning and rubbing her eyes whenever anyone looks her way. She appears to be wandering in a sleepy daze, trying to find her husband and drag him back to their cabin. But Sarah is actually fully alert and carefully tracking Chuck, keeping pace as he crabwalks through the ductwork under the floor and directly beneath her high-heels.

_("Whoever's playing that guitar's got some skills," _Chuck continues—attentive as always to music, even when he's immersed in a task. _"Really fast fingers.")_

"_Mm-hmm,"_ replies Sarah. She makes sure nobody has eyes on her at that instant, then furtively checks the tracking app running on her iPhone. _"Okay…looks like you're within three meters of target, sweetie."_

_("Two point ninety-four precisely," _Morgan chimes in. _"Good estimate, Sarah. Our boy's almost in range.")_

* * *

**Directly below deck, in the ventilation duct**

The singing and guitar-playing grow steadily louder; Chuck is nearing the crew cabin. Just ahead of him, music and light stream up into the air duct through an intake panel. Chuck stealthily crawls up to the panel, and he and his head-mounted video camera take in the scene together….

The guitarist sits on a bunk directly beneath him—and it's _Vama_—playing at full throttle with her eyes shut and a smile of pure pleasure on her face. Her cousin Zora sits alongside her, swaying and softly clapping her hands in time. Others are there in the cabin, singing—but Chuck's field of view is too narrow for him to be able to see them.

All chatter on the C. I. comm link abruptly halts as everyone listens in.

_("Your cute little friend…wow,"_ mutters Morgan after a few moments. _"Amazing.")_

_("She ought to be performing for the passengers," _Sarah says in admiration_, "not just bringing them drinks.")_

"_I suspect Taschenratte is totally clueless," _muses Chuck.

Without warning, there is a knock—_(punnk! punnk! punnk!)—_on the cabin door. The singing stops. Vama puts her guitar down, and someone out of Chuck's line of sight goes to open the door. Chuck turns up the gain on his microphone.

"_Guten abend,_ Pjeter," says Vama hesitantly. _"Kommen in. Es gibt Bier."_ (Subtitled: Good evening. C'mon in. There's beer.)

Chuck shuts his eyes, ready to trigger an Intersect flash on German—but before he can, Sarah starts translating the conversation over the comm link:

"_Thank you—but I am only just passing through. I heard your music and wondered where it was coming from. You play quite well, Vama…."_

"_Thanks."_

"…_But also too loudly, perhaps?"_

"_No…I don't think anyone on the upper decks can hear us. _Heh, heh—_unless perhaps someone is crawling in the pipes?"_

Prudently, Chuck goes _very_ still.

"_And you do know that by company rules, you and everyone here are supposed to be resting when you are off duty—this is correct?"_

"_You're not going to report us to Herr Taschenratte…are you, Pjeter?"_

"_Of course not, Vama! I would never! I'm only cautioning you to be careful, especially since this is the probationary cruise for you and most of your fellow servers. Remember that we all are scrutinized constantly—not only for how diligently we work—but also how we behave when we are _not_ working."_

"_None of us here have heard any complaints about our work _or_ our behavior, Pjeter."_

"_Very good. And I am sure we all appreciate the opportunity that Herr Taschenratte and the company have given to each of us. Good evening to all."_

Chuck hears the cabin door close, and Pjeter's first few footsteps down the passageway, before they are lost in the engine noise. Vama picks up her guitar and starts softly strumming it.

Someone in the cabin grumbles, _"Just because he's been around for a couple of cruises, he acts like he's the boss of us."_

Vama replies, _"Pjeter's kind of a—" _(Sarah pauses in her translation for a second, pondering the best English equivalent of the German word _Depp_.)

"—_kind of a dweeb. But I think he's trying hard to be liked." _

"_Maybe too hard,"_ says another, and everyone in the cabin laughs. Then Vama starts playing for real once more.

Chuck shrugs and moves on, deeper into the duct.

_("A touch of interpersonal drama in the ranks, huh?"_ Morgan asks.)

_("If I heard Pjeter right,"_ Sarah observes, _"all or nearly all of the waitstaff are brand-new hires. That's peculiar.")_

"_To put it mildly,"_ concurs Chuck. _"Why would they use a lot of unproven rookies on a fancy trip with such high-dollar passengers? Seems like no way to run a cruise line."_

_("Unless _these_ passengers like 'em young,"_ Morgan suggests.)

_("Ewww,"_ Sarah replies.)

* * *

Five minutes later, Chuck has reached his target: a point in the ductwork directly beneath the midpoint of the casino. He rolls over on his back to lie prone on the galvanized metal. There's a small maintenance hatch above him and he opens it, revealing the framed underside of the floor above. Stray sounds of animated conversation and cheering, shuffling feet, and even the occasional clatter of thrown dice filter down through the floor.

Chuck unfastens the small device from his chest and reaches up through the hatch to attach it to the flooring.

"_On station and deployed,"_ he alerts his team. _"Everybody set for thirty seconds of radio silence?"_

_("Ready," _Sarah replies.)

_("Same here,"_ adds Morgan.)

Chuck switches off his headset, and slips the night-vision goggles off his eyes. A faint yellow LED on the front panel of the device above his head provides just enough light to guide him. He reaches up and presses a button, and the LED goes from yellow to red. The device hums softly for a few seconds. After the humming stops, the LED switches to green.

Chuck _hmmphs_ softly in satisfaction and dons his gear again, then retrieves the test device and closes the maintenance hatch.

"_That's that," _he reports. _"All their core data systems are sufficiently hardened against hostile electromagnetic pulse. So now there's just one last test."_

_("And we're doing that tomorrow—right?"_ Sarah asks. _"I'm getting to where I don't have to fake feeling sleepy."_ She emphasizes her point with a fully authentic yawn.)

"_Of course, babe. We've still got a whole day and night before Mannheim."_ He flips back over on all fours and continues another meter forward to a fork in the ductwork. One branch curves upward to end at another, larger floor hatch. Chuck wriggles through the hatch and emerges in a darkened maintenance closet.

Still wearing his night-vision goggles, he unzips his black ops suit and steps out of it. Underneath, he's dressed in a charcoal-grey blazer and slacks, with a white oxford shirt and blue-and-silver striped tie. His outfit looks surprisingly unwrinkled and sharp, except that his tie is slack and askew. Chuck removes the rest of his equipment, then efficiently folds and squeezes the ops suit and EMP device into a tight bundle. He reaches behind a shelf full of sponges and cleaning products to withdraw a shopping bag he'd hidden there earlier. The night-vision goggles and headset go into the bag, with the folded ops suit on top to conceal them.

For a moment, Chuck listens carefully for footsteps—and, hearing none, emerges from the closet into the back corner of an unoccupied men's lavatory.

Seconds later, he steps out into a crowded passageway and scans his surroundings for Sarah. Unfortunately, it's Cherise Lightfoot who happens to spot him first. A mild river breeze issuing from a nearby porthole keeps her pheromonal perfume from alerting him with enough lead time for an evasive maneuver. She swoops in—calling out to Chuck in her overly smoky voice:

"Well _hel-looo _there, Charles!"

Cherise snakes an arm around Chuck's back to give him a hug. He returns the hug reluctantly, and as he stumbles out of the older woman's bosomy embrace, she reaches for his loose tie.

"Oh goodness. Did I do that? Let me fix it." Before Chuck can protest, she tightens and straightens his tie—and then notices the fancy shopping bag in his hand.

"So you _did_ manage to go into town after all, you sly boy! What did you buy? Show me!" Cherise chuckles and tries to peer into the bag.

"Umm…_heh_...nothing really, just..."

Caught off guard, Chuck awkwardly yanks the bag out of her reach and jostles it against his leg. The gear hidden inside makes a strange crinkling-plastic noise. Cherise lifts an eyebrow in amusement and curiosity, and paws at the bag again—

—then suddenly, her frisky demeanor evaporates as Sarah's lithe arms materialize to enwrap Chuck from behind. She snuggles up against her husband's back and rests her head in the crook of his neck—meanwhile reaching around with her right hand to help him hold more securely onto the shopping bag.

"Hey, baby." Chuck's offhand greeting belies his grateful relief at the timely assist.

"Hey…Be careful there sweetheart," Sarah pretends to gently chide him. "Don't wanna be showing off our new play-toys!"

She kisses him on the cheek and looks up from his shoulder toward Cherise—juxtaposing a suggestive smile and armor-piercing blue eyes.

"Some things just need to stay private—wouldn't you agree, dear?"

Sarah's reflexive, veiled warning has more of an effect on the former MI-6 operative than she'd anticipated. Cherise's face tenses and she stares back—but in a more analytical way—as if recognizing in Sarah, for the first time, a formidable yet familiar kind of threat. It may have been more than Cherise intended to let on, because she immediately composes herself, tosses her head back, and laughs condescendingly.

"Ohh…_ab-so-lutely,"_ she gushes. "And that's _so_ very much in the spirit of this cruise, I might add. It's good to see you've caught on—frankly, I was a bit worried that you two were all work and no play!"

"No danger of that," retorts Chuck, sounding a touch defensive, as Sarah lowers her arms and moves over to his side. They're both still holding onto the shopping bag.

"Speaking of play—where's _your_ naughty playboy gone to?" asks Sarah.

Cherise snorts and points with her chin in the direction of the casino.

"Where else, dear? The craps tables or the bar—or more likely, shuttling between the both of them." She looks at her watch. "I was actually on my way over there to extract him, or bail him out, or whatever tonight calls for."

"Good night then," says Chuck hurriedly.

"Good night, Charles…and Sarah. I hope you_—ha, ha—_fully enjoy your…toys."

Cherise gives them a smarmy wave—and then turns, swings a smartphone up to her ear, and strides off purposefully toward the casino. Sarah takes Chuck's arm, and they take a few steps in the opposite direction—until Sarah impulsively pulls up and glances back the way they had come.

"Let's follow her!"

"Say what?" Confused, Chuck offers no resistance as Sarah swings them both around and starts leading him toward the casino entrance.

"Suppose you're right, sweetie, and she is spying—either on us or someone else on board. What if the whole prowling-cougar and dissolute-husband thing are—"

"Just a cover? You mean like our old CIA 'role models,' the Turners?"

_(Quick flashback to Chuck and Sarah contending with double agents Craig and Laura Turner on a mission in L. A. nearly three years earlier….)_

"Exactly. I got a telling vibe from her just now. Just a crazy hunch maybe, but what if she and Grady really are up to something?"

Chuck's eyes light up. "And if so, considering they've been trying to be _our_ best buds all trip long—"

Sarah nods. "Then it'd be in our interest to know what they're doing. Especially if it involves the casino in some way."

"Some surveillance before bed, huh? You're on, babe!" Chuck quickly fishes in the shopping bag, detaches the tiny mike from his headset, and slips it into the breast pocket of his jacket. He and Sarah conceal the bag behind a large colorful floor-to-ceiling banner at the entrance to the La Plata Lorelei.

_(Music: "Dangerous," by Big Data)_

Just inside the door, Chuck and Sarah separate and melt into the chic crowd. They locate Cherise a few steps ahead of them, making her way toward the bar out in the middle of the gaming floor. She's walking much more slowly and casually now, so both Sarah and Chuck are easily able to flank and pass by her undetected.

Grady Lightfoot is at the bar. The Englishman has three young lady servers—exceptionally beautiful even by _Lorelei_ standards—gathered around him. Uncharacteristically, they've abandoned their still-full drink trays on the counter. Grady is flirting quite publicly with all of them at once. He whispers into the ear of one, and then another…everyone laughs…and then Grady lightly swipes one of the young women on her behind. The server jolts in mild surprise but keeps on laughing and smiling.

Cherise is approaching, and she's already near enough to be able to see everything that her husband is doing.

"_Hoo-boy," _mutters Chuck. _"I predict ugly."_

But to his surprise, she's perfectly calm and cordial when she joins Grady's impromptu party. She greets each of the servers pleasantly as he introduces them to her in turn, and even appears to jump right in on the lighthearted chatter and laughter.

"_She didn't kill him,"_ Sarah observes. _"That's suspicious right off the bat."_

Chuck moves as close to the scene as he dares, trying—but failing—to catch some snippet of the conversation. Meanwhile, Grady rises on his toes to whisper something in his much taller wife's ear. The Lightfoots look at each other and nod their heads simultaneously in some kind of affirmation. Then Cherise beckons the three young ladies to gather together as she brings out her smartphone again.

The servers giggle and huddle and make coquettish faces: mugging for the camera. Cherise snaps a quick group shot…and then aims her phone more deliberately at the servers' name badges, one at a time. Chuck does a double-take when he realizes what she is doing:

"_She's scanning their QR codes!…gotta be…d'you see that, babe?"_

"_I did. No idea why." _Sarah is a few meters across the room and has also been watching the entire exchange.

Cherise puts her phone away, takes a firm hold of Grady's hand, and gestures toward the exit. Grady flings a sad glance at the amply stocked drink trays there on the bar…but he winks at the three servers and dutifully leaves with his wife.

Sarah and Chuck retreat deeper into the casino and meet up at the far end.

Excited, Chuck begins, "I'm _dying_ to know what those QR codes are all about!"

"Strange as it all looked," suggests Sarah, "everything the Lightfoots did there at the bar could conceivably be explained by their talent agency business."

"True…but earlier today I saw another patron—an Arab sheik—fiddling with a different girl's badge. It didn't quite register at the time, but he must have been after her QR code too!"

"So maybe it's some kind of rating system?" Sarah rubs her eyes and yawns.

"Or…maybe just hometowns or nicknames or favorite colors," Chuck goes on. "But I doubt Cherise would have any interest in those."

"Good point. Could we pick up that thread _(yawn!) _in the morning?" Sarah rests her head on her husband's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Chuck. It's just that the excitement's winding down and I'm back to being a tired pregnant lady who just wants to go curl up in her man's arms."

Chuck kisses her forehead. "Sounds good to me." Then—with a snicker—he adds, "Better not forget to retrieve_—heh!—_our _sex toys_ on the way out!"

Sarah's eyes widen and she lifts her head in a hurry. _"Ssshh!"_ Behind Chuck's back, a slim brunette woman in a business suit has just appeared.

"_Pardon me?"_

Seriously mortified, Chuck spins around to face the woman. But she shows no sign of having understood his quip, even if she heard it.

"Excuse me. Herr Carmichael? It is Herr Carmichael, is it not?"

The woman has a La Plata name badge, but no QR code. She appears to be in her early thirties. Chuck quickly recognizes her, and relaxes.

"You're the casino manager, aren't you?"

_"Ja,_ my name is Karin Klemeyer. I saw you and Frau Carmichael standing over here and wished to introduce myself. It is a pleasure!" She smiles and shakes both of their hands. "I make it a point to meet all of our _Premier Platinum Club_ members."

"Well, it's a real pleasure for us too," Chuck replies.

"Are you enjoying yourselves?" Klemeyer asks. "The accommodations, do they suit your needs? Is there anything else we can do to please you?"

"Yes…yes, for sure…and I don't believe so," Sarah answers her.

Klemeyer hands Chuck a business card. "My private cell number. Should you have need of any services, please call me—day or night."

After the manager departs, Sarah looks quizzically at her husband.

"We haven't been made…have we?"

"Nope."

"So what's this about _Premier Platinum Club?_ When did _we_ become high rollers?"

Chuck folds his arms and puts on a self-satisfied expression.

"I left a little calling card behind when I hacked in this morning. Another test. Let's see how long it takes 'em to figure it out."


End file.
